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themselves than males, it certainly much astonished me to hear those Welch pseudo-females in the act of conversation.

No barbarisin can by possibility be more grating than theirs ;-no remote Hotentotism, nor Susquehanah alphabet can be more monstrous in the pronunciation than the Welch dialect-dialect it must bo called, for language it never can be, which is not civilized and is not a polite mode of conveying sentiments. I fear, however, that in continuing this subject, I may be unfortunate enough to hurt irritable feelings of these ancient Britons, and as I always entertain great horror of violating that extreme respect which is due from all men to the "ladies of creation," I must here stop my diatribes. And now for Mr. Gilpin. This gentleman was in his day a great man among travellers. It was he who divided the Wye into "three grand scenes "—and in continuation of his narrative he has written much to perplex and more to disgust regarding South Wales. The only part I shall mention here-and distinctly do I remember almost the words, for I read them on September the 10th at the town of Built, in the evening of a very fine day—Mr. Gilpin then asserts that mountain scenery is dull and stupid, that he sees no great merit in crags and precipices, that those great arks of the past, swelling their peaks even into the thunder cloud, have for him no particular charm, and that in truth he prefers vale scenery infinitely to these things; that for him the

purling brook, the flowery garden, and the geese runing about a village green, have a far more inestimable appearance.

CLEVELAND SKETCHES.

IMPROMPTU LINES

ON A YOUNG LADY VISITING FRANCE AND THE RHINE.

"O, saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border,

She's gane like Alexander

To spread her conquests farther.

Return again fair Lesley

Return to Caledonie,

That we may brag we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie."-BURNS.

The ship that bears thee o'er the salt sea-foam,
Far from the pleasures of thy youthful home,
Leaves not on English ground thy like behind,
Wafts richer treasure than the pearls of Ind:
Ye waves rebel not! clouds and storms depart !-
Or ye will rend in twain some lover's heart.

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Breasting the Kentish shore thou wilt behold
Britannia's bulwarks, cliffs and headlands bold,
The rocks of Albion which sweet Shakespere sung,
(Where, gathering samphire, the poor sailor hung,)

And Dover's castle-walls still towering high
Beloved alike by Ocean and the sky!

Fast roll the waves along that Channel free,
Loud sweep the breezes o'er the bounding sea;
But, loveliness like thine,will still command
Homage from winds, and waves, and stormy strand,
Whilst beauteous sea-birds hovering in the air,
Rejoicing linger o'er a form so fair.

Thou'lt see Boulogne's bright shore,-where, long ago,
In youth's glad prime, I wander'd to and fro,
Dear are its upland walks,-yea, ever dear,
Ev'n the harsh rocks, and sea defying pier;

Dear that lone beach, erst sanctified to love,

Where Naiads once, and sea-nymphs seem'd to rove.

And thou wilt wander the gay realm of France,
Region of beauty, chivalry, romance,

Through vales sweet-smiling, and majestic towns,
Groves fresh and verdant, fields which Plenty owns ;
Swains frank and courteous, maidens pure, refin'd,
Will hail thy presence with a welcome kind,
And, mourning Scotland's vanished treasure,† see
A Queen of love and beauty still in thee!

Would I were with thee in th' Imperial town,
(The pride of cities, Europe's jewell'd crown ;)

+ Referring to the lovely and unfortunate Queen Mary Stuart.

To roam with thee along the gentle Seine,

'Mid pleasant vineyards, bright with summer rain,
Pace the gay Boulevard-Palais Royale-
Jardines des Plantes-Champs-Elysee and all
The festooned walks, rich parks, and temples free,-
Majestic Louvre, gorgeous Tuilleries.

No more the clanging trumpet frights each street,
No more is heard the furious war-steeds' feet;
Riot and red rebellion, sunk to rest,

No longer stir each palpitating breast:
But cheerful smiles and laughter-beaming eyes,
Will greet thee oft with sympathising sighs,

And love-adoring whispers kiss the air,

Wondering from what blest sphere sprang one so fair.

And thou wilt view majestic and divine,
Immortal, glorious, ever-honour'd Rhine,
Rolling right onward beautiful and bold,
Tinged with cerulean hue, or evening's gold,
Mayence's proud towers, Cologna's spire-wreath'd town,
And lofty Ehrenstein's flower-mantled crown,

Grim forests spectre-haunted, dark and dun
And vineyards gleaming in the setting sun.

The silvery waters of Geneva's lake
Seraphic music in thy heart shall make;
The simple cottage, and the homes of old,

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